


Come to Seattle

by toyhto



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Flirting, Getting Together, Insomnia, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22352479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: Arthur can't sleep. Eames finds him in a bar, not trying to get laid.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 213





	Come to Seattle

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by StephG, thank you so much!
> 
> This story has Arthur being stressed and Eames flirting with him quite efficiently, or Arthur needing someone to hold him down for a moment and Eames being there for him.

Arthur’s halfway through his third beer when someone comes to the bar. The lighting is dim and there’s smoke and he can’t see the man’s face, and it’s not like he came here to get laid, not really. But it wouldn’t hurt. And if he  _ was  _ trying to get laid, Arthur might try to hit on someone like the man who just walked in and is now looking around as if he’s looking for someone. Arthur leans forward and glances past a group of teenagers, well, maybe not  _ teenagers _ but twenty-somethings. The man at the door has nice shoes, stupid trousers, shady-looking tattoos on his arms, an equally stupid t-shirt, broad shoulders and a very nice -

Holy fuck.

It’s Eames.

Maybe this isn’t his third beer at all. Maybe this is the fourth beer. Or the fifth. How long has he been here? He’d never even consider fucking -

“There you are,” Eames says, walking past the teenagers and stopping at the counter right beside Arthur. Arthur wants to tell him that’s he’s too close, that Arthur can smell his fucking cologne, and that he should at least wear a coat, it’s a chilly evening, and how long has it been since he’s shaved, the stubble makes him look even more untidy. But before Arthur can say anything, Eames leans closer, grabs his beer and takes a long sip of it, then puts it back and somehow manages to brush their shoulders together in the process.

“How did you find me?” Arthur asks.

“Who said I was looking for you?” Eames asks, eyes on the bartender. “Two whiskeys, please. One for you, dear –,” he glances at Arthur, “- unless you’ve already had enough.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, that sounds worrying,” Eames says and then waits for the bartender to make them the drinks. Arthur should say something. They can’t just sit here in the silence, can they? It’s not like they’re even  _ friends. _ He should say something about the weather. Or about the job, but he can’t talk about the job. Maybe he should say something about Eames’ clothes.

“Shut up,” Eames says.

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

Eames thanks the bartender and then passes one of the whiskeys to Arthur. “You were going to comment on my clothes.”

“I wasn’t.”

Eames smiles to his glass of whiskey. “Really? My bad, then. So, what’re we drinking to? I thought you didn’t like to party in the middle of a job.”

“I’m not  _ partying _ ,” Arthur says, “I’m –“ But he has to stop there, because what is he going to say?  _ I’m trying to get laid? _ He is  _ not.  _ “I’m having trouble sleeping.” At least that’s true.

“Aren’t we all,” Eames says. “And to answer your question, I followed you. And then I ate half a pizza in the place across the street before I came here so that it wouldn’t be so obvious.”

“You _ followed  _ me? Why the hell –“

“That’s how I found you,” Eames says and sips of his whiskey. “You asked, darling.”

“Why would you –”

“You seemed stressed. And you didn’t go to the hotel. I thought that maybe you’d find a good party and I could join you.”

“Fuck off.”

“Maybe I’d find you on a dance floor,” Eames says with a wry smile. Arthur isn’t looking at his mouth. “You’d be, I don’t know, covered in glitter. And yeah, dancing without a shirt. Maybe without trousers, too.”

Arthur empties his glass of whiskey.

“Okay, too much,” Eames says and taps the back of Arthur’s hand with his fingertips, then draws his hand away again. Arthur stares at his own hand, blinking. “You’d have kept trousers on. But, surprisingly, you didn’t go anywhere where there is dancing. I found you in a place where people come to get drunk and hit on each other.”

“I’m not trying to get laid.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Eames says in a light voice, leaning away just a little so that their shoulders don’t brush. Arthur grabs his empty glass of whiskey. “I just thought, I don’t know, maybe you’d like to talk.”

“To talk?”

“Yeah.”

“With you.”

“Well,” Eames says slowly,” if you’re stressed about the job, it’d be better if you talked about it with me than with an innocent bystander.”

“Of course I’m stressed about the fucking job.”

“I know you are. You always take them so seriously.” Eames glances at him. “That was a compliment.”

“Sure.”

“You can talk about it, though. If you want. You don’t need to sit in a place like this alone.”

“We aren’t friends.”

Eames snorts.

“It’s nothing,” Arthur says, “it’s just, this is exactly the point when I should have everything in control, everything, because if I slip now, it all goes to hell when we’re under. And I’m not sleeping well.”

“Has it gotten worse?” Eames asks without looking at him. “Your sleeping?”

“I don’t know.”

“Really?”

“It’s been bad for a long time.”

Eames opens his mouth, then closes it again, drinks the rest of his whiskey and takes a deep breath. Arthur watches his shoulders go up and down. He always looks like he thinks he can handle anything, the fucking idiot.

“About what I said earlier,” Arthur says. “That I’m not trying to get laid.”

“Seems like something I would do,” Eames says, glancing at him. “Maybe we’ve been working together too much lately. You’re picking up my habits.”

“You’re at every fucking job I take.”

“I like working with you. You’re reliable.”

“I didn’t think you appreciated –“

“Someone’s got to be,” Eames says with a short smile, “so that the rest of us can have a little fun. So, if you don’t want to talk, would you like me to help you? With the thing you aren’t trying to do? What’s your type, anyway? Don’t tell me you aren’t gay.”

Arthur laughs, then tries to drink his whiskey but it’s all gone. “I’m gay.”

“Good,” Eames says, looking around. “Okay, what’re we looking for? Some good-looking young lad with tight trousers and nice ass who’d do the talking for you and not bother finding out about your shady career?”

“Listen –”

“Or maybe an older gentleman? Someone who thinks you’re young and pretty?” Eames pauses and looks at him. “You are, though. Young and pretty. So, they’d be right. And they’d treat you right, too, order you breakfast and draw you a bath and give you a shoulder massage. I think that’d be good for you, honey, honestly. So, what do you think about the one in the corner, in green trousers? He’s a little grey but otherwise seems fine, would be nice in bed, I think, not adventurous but nice, you could be the adventurous one. Or what about –”

“Enough,” Arthur says and places his hand on Eames’ arm, which is probably why Eames stops talking so quickly, because let’s face it, Eames never listened to him anyway. Eames’ arm is warm, and the tattoos are ridiculous, and there’s an old scar right where Arthur’s thumb is. He should get the fuck out of here. “I’m going to fuck off now.”

“Okay,” Eames says slowly. “We could just talk, though.”

“No,” Arthur says, lets go of Eames’ arm and stands up. His head is heavy and there’s something wrong with the floor. It must be because he’s not been sleeping. He didn’t drink that much. He’s pretty sure he didn’t. “I need to go. To sleep.”

“I can take you.”

“You’re in a different hotel. You’re –,“ Arthur clears his throat. “You’re just around the corner from here.”

“Yeah,” Eames says slowly, “so maybe that’s why I was a bit surprised when you chose this place to not try to get laid. Just around the corner from my hotel. Not yours.”

“I need to go,” Arthur says.

Eames grabs his wrist. “Are you alright?”

He pulls. Eames doesn’t let go. He always knew Eames was stronger than him, he just likes to ignore it because it’s fucking frustrating, that’s what it is, it’s about the fucking genes. It feels like if he pulled hard enough, his whole arm would get ripped off before Eames would let go.

He can hear his heart beating in his ears.

“Come on,” Eames says, not letting go. “I followed you here, didn’t I? I could follow you to the hotel. It’d be no trouble at all. You’re drunk.”

“No,” Arthur says and blinks. He’s not drunk, he’s fucking tired. He hasn’t slept well in weeks. “Yes.”

Eames lets go of his wrist. “Yes?”

“Yes. If you don’t –”

“I don’t mind,” Eames says and stands up. “I wasn’t trying to get laid or anything. I was just following you. So, this is exactly how I wanted this night to end.”

“I thought you were looking for a party.”

“No, just looking for you.” Eames stands up and steps to Arthur, then places his hand on Arthur’s back. Just for a second. Almost like he doesn’t know he’s doing it. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

“To the hotel.”

“That’s what I said,” Eames says.

  
  


**

  
  


Eames says they should take a taxi to the hotel. Arthur says they should walk. That’s going to clear his head. Also, that’s going to give him some time to consider why the hell he’s taking Eames to his hotel, but he doesn’t say that part aloud. He isn’t going to fuck Eames under any circumstances. That’d be just unacceptable. Unprofessional. That’s not like him at all. He knows he has as many flaws as anyone else, or maybe more, because lately, his father has stopped answering his calls and every time he calls his mother, she sounds like she’s about to cry. And he always thought he was patient but these days, he seems to get angry at everything and everyone and it’s been harder and harder to hide that. So, he has flaws. But being unprofessional certainly isn’t one of them. That’s why he's not going to fuck Eames. Not even if the way Eames squeezed his wrist in the bar was -

“You don’t need to fuck me,” Eames says.

Arthur misses a step and then looks around, but no one seems to have heard Eames. They’re almost at the hotel, it’s a Thursday night and quiet even in the midtown. He clears his throat. “I wasn’t thinking about that.”

“You keep glancing at my hands,” Eames says, his voice light as if he was talking about the weather. There’s a good chance that’s he’s elaborately trying to drive Arthur insane. “What is it, really? You have a hand thing or something?”

“I don’t have a  _ hand thing _ ,” Arthur says.

“I was mistaken, then,” Eames says. “Sorry. My bad. Maybe it wasn’t my hands you were trying to get a glance at. Just don’t judge me too harshly, darling. These trousers aren’t the best for you to evaluate my bits.”

“Fucking hell.” Two more blocks and then they’re at the hotel, thank god. “I was looking at your hands.”

“I knew it,” Eames says with an easy smile, the bloody bastard. “Great. That’s so much more interesting. Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“So, you don’t…” Eames pauses, raises his right hand in front of his face, then scratches his cheek with his thumb slowly, looking like he’s considering whether he ought to lick his hand or something. It looks ridiculous. “Okay, not that, then,” Eames says, blinking. “It was worth trying, though. How about –,” and he reaches to stroke the side of Arthur’s face with his fingers.

Arthur grabs his wrist and tries to pull his arm behind his back. Only, it doesn’t happen fast enough. Eames gets ahold of his arm and twists, and he closes his eyes, because Eames  _ is  _ stronger, and he was too slow, he’s too tired and this isn’t a real fight, there’s no danger, he just wants Eames to… to…

Obviously, he wants Eames to hold him in place.

“What was that?” Eames asks, so close to Arthur’s ear that he can feel Eames breathing. “You want to fight?”

“No,” he says. He sounds breathless. Eames is going to realize.

“No? Why would you –,” Eames tightens his grip a little.

Arthur pulls  _ and  _ tries to keep his breathing steady but can’t.

Eames lets him go and he folds in half, breathing hard. It’s obvious. It’s fucking obvious. He didn’t mean it to be.

“Come on,” Eames says, “let’s get to the hotel.”

  
  


**

  
  


He doesn’t invite Eames to his room, but Eames follows him anyway. In the elevator, Eames talks about his mother’s cat who’s become afraid of house plants for no reason at all, isn’t that odd, and does Arthur know anything about cats? Arthur doesn’t. His head feels muddy and he can’t stop thinking about sex, the sex that isn’t supposed to happen at all and possibly isn’t going to. Maybe Eames is just making sure Arthur will get to his room safely. Because they’re working together. Because it’d be inconvenient for the job if Arthur got into trouble or something. Not that he ever does. And Eames knows that. Eames knows too much of him, always has, maybe it’s about the forging. Maybe Eames watches people more closely because it’s his job to fake them.

“Okay,” Eames says when they’re in Arthur’s hotel room. “Do you have chips?”

“Maybe,” Arthur says and closes the door.

“So, what do you do when you can’t sleep?” Eames asks, walking around the room. He looks like he’s out of place but doesn’t have a clue about it.

“I worry about things.”

“Well, that’s smart.” Eames finds a bag of chips. “Do you like movies?”

“Don’t you know?”

Eames looks at him for a moment, his eyes narrowing and his mouth full of chips. “I guess not. Too much fiction.”

“Something like that.”

“I love them,” Eames says, sitting down on Arthur’s bed, “I love movies. I love fiction. It’s like real life but better. And dreaming is fiction in which you can actually feel everything. Arthur -”

Arthur starts unbuttoning his shirt. His skin feels sticky and he smells of the bar, of alcohol and cigarettes.

“Maybe the work isn’t worth it if you’re losing the ability to sleep,” Eames says. “Maybe you should take a break. Watch movies for a change.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do,” Arthur says, pushing his shirt off his shoulders. “I should take a shower.”

“I don’t mind. I smell like the goddamn pizzeria where I was when I was spying on you.”

“You could’ve just come to me sooner.”

“You would’ve talked to me a little and then fucked off alone.”

“I tried to.”

“Not really,” Eames says. “Listen, darling, you’re an idiot so this may come as a surprise, but I kind of like you. I can do this the way you want it.”

“We aren’t going to do anything,” Arthur says, unzips his trousers and takes them off. “I’m going to take a piss.”

“Can you tell me what you want?” Eames asks, when Arthur walks to the bathroom and closes the door. “And don’t be shy,” Eames calls through the door, “I bet I know more bad words than you do.”

Arthur locks the door. He thinks he can hear Eames eating more chips and crumbling them on the bed.

“Fine,” Eames says when Arthur’s washing his hands. “I need a safeword, then.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Arthur says and opens the door. Eames is sitting on his bed, knees sprawled, eating chips in his stupid trousers and stupid t-shirt, looking at Arthur as if they’re going to have sex.

“A safeword, please,” Eames says, “or else I’m going to be the gentlest and nicest lover you’ve ever had.”

“Eames, that’s just… We aren’t going to have sex.”

“Fine,” Eames says, leaning back on the bed. “Do you want chips? They’re quite good.”

“Chocolate,” Arthur says. “My safeword is chocolate.”

“Chocolate?” Eames asks, wiping his hands on his trousers. “What if you want to talk about chocolate when we have sex?”

“I won’t. I don’t like talking.”

“Hmm,” Eames says.

“This,” Arthur says, pointing between himself and Eames, “this doesn’t mean… I don’t do this because… I’m only…”

Eames just stares at him.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“I like you,” Arthur says.

“Yeah, I know,” Eames says.

“Can’t you just shut up for a fucking second?”

“Sure,” Eames says, putting a bag of chips to the floor. It seems empty now. “You want me to take a shower? Or we can do it together if you like that.”

“I don’t –,” Arthur begins and then takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to back off, so can we just…”

“Fine. No shower. Any instructions you’d like to give me?”

Arthur goes back to the bathroom, fills a plastic cup with water and drinks.

“Honey,” Eames says, “you’re going to have to tell me what you like.”

“I just…” Arthur puts the cup away and goes back. Eames is still sitting on the bed, fully dressed.

“Okay,” Eames says. “Can I fuck you? Do you want to fuck me?”

“I…”  _ Bloody hell.  _ He walks to Eames, then takes Eames’ hand and wraps Eames’ fingers around his wrist. Then he pulls a little. Eames doesn’t let go, only watches him.

“I got that part already,” Eames says, his grip getting a little tighter. “But I need a little more. Do you need, I don’t know, pain? Because I’m not fond of that, but if it’s important for you, I could try being –”

“No,” Arthur says. It’s better like this, talking, it’s better now that Eames has a grip of him. If he tried to back away, Eames wouldn’t let him. Eames would hold him in place and make him talk, not hurt him but not let him disappear, either. “You’re bigger than me.”

“Yes,” Eames says in a soft voice.

Arthur fucking _ shivers. _ He can’t help it. “Just keep me in place. Don’t let me go.”

Eames pulls a little. “You have a safeword, though.”

“I’m not going to use it.”

Eames pulls a little more, enough that Arthur has to go closer or his wrist is going to ache. He takes a step towards Eames, and then another, when Eames pulls more. “What about the fucking?”

“Don’t,” Arthur says, then takes a deep breath when Eames settles his palm down on Arthur’s back. “I can, later. If you want. It’s fine that way. But I don’t really like to be fucked.”

“I’m going to jerk you off,” Eames says and stands up. He’s too close, he’s too fucking close but Arthur can’t move away, because Eames won’t let him. He tries to step back, but Eames flips them the other way around, so that the back of his knees is pressing against the side of the mattress. “You’re naked.”

“No, I’m not,” Arthur says. He’s still wearing his underpants. And socks. He didn’t fucking  _ strip  _ for Eames. He doesn’t  _ do  _ that. He doesn’t do -

“Lie down on the bed,” Eames says with a steady voice, with a steady hand pushing Arthur down. He could fight it. Eames would do it exactly right. It’d be good. But he doesn’t have the patience now, and Eames is pressing him down by the shoulders, so he goes. He lies down, his head to the side so that he can breathe even though Eames’ palm weighs on his back. He feels like he hasn’t slept in a fucking lifetime. He can’t think. He doesn’t want to think. He watches when Eames tries to get out of his clothes without pulling his hand away from holding Arthur down. He watches when Eames grunts and swears and climbs to the bed, shoes and all, and it’s fucking insane, there’s going to be mud and dogshit in Arthur’s bed and that’s just stupid, but when he’s about to say something about that, Eames sits down on him.

He closes his eyes and breathes. He can hear Eames taking off the stupid t-shirt and undoing the zipper. He was never going to have sex with Eames. Sure, it’d be great, the thought of Eames lying on him, pressing him down with his whole weight, grabbing his wrists and not letting him go… But they’re working together. Arthur would never do that. He would never ask Eames to do that for him.

“Darling,” Eames says, still wearing his trousers, still sitting on Arthur’s ass, pushes his fingers through Arthur’s hair. “I always wanted to know what your hair feels like.”

Arthur takes a deep breath and tries to roll onto his side.

Eames pulls his hand away for a second and then there’s a sharp a weight on Arthur’s upper back, Eames’ arm pressing him down so tight it almost hurts. Almost.

Fuck. He can’t  _ think. _

“I’m not going to let you go, darling,” Eames says. “Don’t worry.”

Good.  _ Good.  _ Eames isn’t going to let him go. He can just… he can just…

He pushes back a little when Eames climbs off him to get rid of his trousers, but Eames still has him pressed against the mattress, so it won’t work. He can’t get out. He’s going to do this. He’s going to stop thinking. And he always liked Eames, the goddamn irresponsible bastard who called him  _ darling  _ when they first met, what an idiot, what an…

“Honey, shut up,” Eames says. “I’ll undress you now.”

What an idiot. Followed Arthur to a bar and thought Arthur was going to fuck him, just like that, just because he’s so fucking handsome and big and strong and could hold Arthur down if he wanted to.

Eames slips his thumbs under the waistband of Arthur’s boxers and tugs them down to his knees.

“I wasn’t sure you were gay when I first met you,” Eames says. “I won’t lie, I was goddamn worried that maybe you weren’t. For an hour, perhaps. I thought maybe you were genuinely pissed about my flirting. But then you blushed, darling, you fucking  _ blushed,  _ and I thought you couldn’t have faked it, because honey, you don’t have the imagination. You’re the most serious person I’ve ever met. It’s lovely. You’re lovely. I always thought so. But you kept your distance. I should’ve just grabbed your wrist sooner, so you would’ve –“

Arthur pushes his knees against the mattress the best he can, but there’s no use, Eames is on him and he's bigger and he’s not going to let Arthur throw him off.

“We can wrestle,” Eames says, pressing Arthur’s shoulders hard against the mattress, “if you want to. I won’t let you win. I promise. I’ll have you in bed like this. But you can struggle at first if you want, darling, do you want to?”

Arthur feels his muscles relaxing before he can think about it.  _ Fuck.  _ It’s like magic. Maybe he could sleep like this, with Eames sitting on him.

But not yet.

“Okay,” Eames says, then backs away and flips Arthur onto his back before Arthur realizes what’s happening. “I want to see your face.”

Arthur bites his lip. “Eames –“

“No,” Eames says, “this isn’t a goddamn one-night stand. I’m not a stranger. I want to look at your face. That’s what I’m getting out of this. And an orgasm, I think.”

“Just –“

“I can hold you down like this,” Eames says and rolls to lie on Arthur. He kisses Arthur’s neck and presses Arthur to the mattress with one hand and reaches the other in between their bodies. “Ready?”

Arthur breathes in.

Eames grabs his cock and tugs. “Slow or fast?”

“I don’t want to think.”

“I’m going to guess then,” Eames says. “Look at me.”

Arthur blinks.

“Keep your fucking eyes open and look at me,” Eames says. “That’s the deal. And I won’t let go of you.”

“Good,” Arthur says.

“Just don’t come yet,” Eames says, speeding up his hand. “I want to look at your face when you’re like this.”

Arthur can’t think.

“I’ve always liked you,” Eames says. “I flirted with you so that you wouldn’t notice how much I liked you.”

“That was –”

“Stupid, I know. But it worked. And you must know you’re too good for me. You’re like a prince. Like a fucking prince in a stupid suit. I can’t believe you let me have you like this.”

“Eames –”

“Don’t think,” Eames says and kisses his ear. The kiss is sloppy and wet and he has a vague idea that maybe Eames isn’t holding him down anymore, maybe he could easily kick Eames in the groin if he wanted to, but he doesn’t need to. It’s alright. Everything’s almost fine. Eames is caressing his hair with his other hand as if Arthur’s something to be caressed, and it’s all a bit ridiculous, but he’s not thinking. And it’s very nice, too. Very nice. Eames’ fingers on his cock. Eames’ breath on his neck. Eames’ chest pressing down against his arm.

“You can come now,” Eames says. “Don’t close your eyes.”

Arthur tries not to, he really does.

“Fuck,” Eames says a few seconds later, slowly letting go of him and wiping his hand on the sheets. “That was… Arthur, I don’t know if you heard me when I called you a prince, but I just want you to know that even though I’m very embarrassing when I genuinely like someone, I have some good qualities, too. But I’m afraid I’m going to be goddamn grinning tomorrow. Just so you know. But it’ll be alright. Everyone will think that I’ve just had a very good wank or something, because you’re going to look as cool as ever. Arthur –”

“What?” Arthur asks. He sounds a little breathless. Also, he’s so tired he actually thinks he might fall asleep.

Eames crawls up him until they’re face to face, holds his face in between his hands, and kisses him on the mouth.

  
  


**

When Arthur wakes up, Eames is still in bed with him, snoring lightly. It’s three o’clock. Apparently, he’s been asleep for almost two hours.

He goes to the toilet and when he comes back, Eames is still asleep.

  
  


**

  
  


When Arthur wakes up again, Eames has rolled onto his side and is now facing him. His mouth is half-open. He’s not snoring anymore. He looks comfortable, but then again, Eames has always been great at being comfortable in the wrong places.

It’s half past four. Arthur stays in bed for ten more minutes and then gives up. He can’t really get the stickiness off his skin without taking a shower and that would wake Eames up, but he tries with toilet paper and hand soap anyway. In the mirror, his hair is sticking into odd directions and he looks tired and more than a little confused. At least Eames hasn’t fucked off. That’s probably a good thing.

  
  


**

  
  


“Arthur.”

Arthur looks up from the screen. “Hi.”

“You’re up.” Eames sounds disappointed.

“I slept more than four hours,” Arthur says and finishes the sentence he was typing at his laptop.

“Please, tell me you’re watching porn. You can’t be working at this goddamn hour.”

“It’s almost seven. I was going to wake you up pretty soon anyway.”

“So, it’s porn,” Eames says with a smile, but there’s something odd in his voice. Or maybe what’s odd is that he’s lying tangled in Arthur’s sheets, apparently naked.

Arthur closes the laptop. “Listen. About last night.”

“No,” Eames says and sits up on the bed. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to tell me it was a mistake. I forbid it.”

“I was going to apologize,” Arthur says. “Apparently I passed out before I could do my end of the deal.”

“What?” Eames blinks. “ _ Oh. _ Yeah, don’t worry about that. It was pretty clear anyway that you weren’t going to do any fucking in a few hours.”

“Sorry.”

“Arthur,” Eames says slowly, “I don’t care. I had a very good time, considering that what I originally planned for the evening was to follow you from a distance and watch you try flirting with strangers. The only complain I have is about you falling asleep when I was kissing you.”

Arthur bites his lip. “I didn’t.”

“You did,” Eames says, “and you’re blushing, you goddamn idiot. It’s adorable. If I didn’t know that you’re a hardened criminal, I’d call you cute to your face.”

“So,” Arthur says, “you like kissing?”

Eames straightens his back, which makes the sheets shift. Arthur blinks. He’s not fucking  _ thirteen. _ He's not going to lose his nerve when he gets a glimpse of Eames’ thigh.

“Kissing is fine,” Eames says.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep.”

“Don’t be.”

Arthur clears his throat. He should take the shower he very much needs and then tell Eames to do the same. They could go to breakfast together and only talk about the job. This evening, Arthur could leave the warehouse late and come straight to the hotel. Alone. That’d be it.

But then again -

“Eames,” he says slowly.

Eames grabs the edge of the duvet and pulls it up to cover his chest. “You look like you’re doing math in your head and it’s hurting your brain. If you’re going to say that everything nice you said to me last night was only because you were desperate to get a decent handjob, please, let me get dressed first. I don’t like getting rejected while I’m naked.”

“I could fuck you now,” Arthur says.

Eames stares at him. “Really?”

“It’s been six hours at least,” Arthur says, “I’m pretty sure I can get it up again.”

“ _ Really? _ ” Eames says, which seems a little impolite, but then Arthur realizes that he’s smiling. “You aren’t going to tell me to fuck off?”

“Unless you don’t want to,” Arthur says, “which is fine. I just thought, you know, because you’re still here.”

“I’m still in your bed,” Eames says and then grins. “Arthur, I’m naked.”

“I know.”

“I have to warn you, though,” Eames says, “since you’re about to fuck me in broad daylight. I may have made a few bad choices considering my tattoos in the past. So, you might want to prepare yourself.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Not when you see the one I have on my butt.”

“You have –,“ Arthur takes a deep breath. “Okay. But we have to take a shower first. I’ve wanted to do that since I woke up.”

“I bet you have,” Eames says, “I made a pretty mess out of you last night. Listen, I’m going to get out of the bed now, so be a gentleman and don’t stare at my dick.”

“Fucking hell, Eames –”

“I can’t believe you actually like me,” Eames says, pushes the sheets to the floor and walks to the bathroom. “Are you coming? No need to do this separately. We’ve got to save time in case you’re going to be slow at fucking me.”

Arthur puts the laptop to the side table and stands up. “I don’t understand why I let you come here.”

“Tick tock,” Eames says, standing naked in the bathroom doorway.

  
  


**

  
  


It turns out Arthur  _ is  _ a little slow. Everything takes time and it’s not entirely his fault. Firstly, taking a shower with Eames is almost impossible, because Eames seems to be equally interested in teasing him and kissing him. There’s shampoo in his hair and it’s getting into his eyes and Eames is pressing him against the wall gently enough that he  _ could  _ push Eames away. He just can’t bear to. And he can’t let himself wonder what this is, not now, but surely it’s  _ something _ if there’s kissing in the shower involved. He’s not even hard yet and still he lets Eames kiss him for what feels like maybe fifteen minutes, before Eames seems to remember what the purpose of the two of them standing naked in the shower cubicle with water falling onto them is.

There’re tiny drawbacks. The tattoo on Eames’ ass really is terrible. It’s difficult to understand why Arthur would ever choose to fuck someone who has a tattoo like that on their ass, but that’s how things are, so he tries to forget about it. Also, maybe six hours wasn’t long enough to fully recover. He’s probably getting old. But it’s not like he’s going to ask Eames if they could postpone it, no, he has Eames lying naked in his sheets and he’s going to do something about that even if it takes longer than he thought. And Eames is being nice about it, which is a part of the problem. The broad daylight doesn’t help, either. He keeps getting distracted with the thought that this is really Eames, he’s going to fuck  _ Eames _ , Eames came to his hotel last night and slept with him and didn’t leave and possibly called him a fucking  _ prince  _ and what’s that supposed to mean, anyway? And what’s it about the kissing? Does Eames always like to kiss people he sleeps with? Surely it’s not like Arthur’s special to him or anything.

“Arthur,” Eames says, when Arthur’s finally got the condom on and is desperately trying not to think about anything other than what is necessary. “ _ Arthur _ . Look at me.”

“Bloody hell,” Arthur says. Eames is lying on his back, he said he wants to see Arthur, and isn’t that weird, why would he want that? “Eames, I don’t know if we –”

“Please,” Eames says. He’s short of breath and flushed and very naked. “I’ll organize my desk if you fuck me.”

“I –”

“I’ll stop stealing your coffee, too,” Eames says, “please, Arthur, I’ll do that if you just stick it in my arse now. Come on. You’re so cute, I can’t bear it, you’re so cute when you’re nervous, and I –”

“I’m not nervous,” Arthur says and grabs Eames’ hips. “Tell me if I’m going too fast.”

Eames laughs at him and then stops laughing.

It's possible that he likes Eames  _ a lot. _ It doesn’t feel like fucking someone you don’t care about, not at all. It doesn’t even feel like fucking a friend. It feels like he’s desperate to do it right so that Eames will come back to him. He wants Eames to fucking fall into pieces in his bed. He wants Eames to curse and plead and beg and then, later, kiss him like he’s not in a hurry, like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing than kissing Arthur.

“Arthur,” Eames says, and it sounds like a challenge, “Arthur, Arthur, Arthur –”

“Shut up,” Arthur says, even though it’s nice, really nice, Eames calling his name, he never realized he wanted this, he never realized Eames could say his name like that, he never realized Eames could look at him like that -

“Arthur,” Eames says, “I can’t believe you’re –”

Arthur pushes in harder.

Eames reaches down to wrap his fingers around his own cock. “Can I –”

“Yeah.”

“I -,” Eames begins, but it ends with a grunt and a sigh.

_ Please _ , Arthur thinks. It doesn’t make sense. Eames lying sprawled in Arthur’s bed doesn’t make sense.  _ Please, please, please, please - _

“Arthur,” Eames says and places his sticky fingers on the back of Arthur’s neck. “Arthur, goddamn, come here.”

Arthur pulls out.

“No,” Eames says, but it’s too late and besides, it seems that he’s trying to pull Arthur’s head towards him. “You’ve got to kiss me.”

Arthur pokes Eames’ thigh with his knee and then almost falls onto Eames, but Eames doesn’t seem to notice. It’s a really bad kiss, and then there’s another, and really, it feels like Eames has half-forgotten how kissing happens. But it’s fine. Arthur takes care of himself, it takes just a few tugs anyway, then rolls off the condom and lands on the bed with his head resting on Eames arm.

“Goddamn,” Eames mutters. “I can’t fall asleep.”

“We aren’t going to.”

“I could.” Eames blinks, then pushes his fingers clumsily into Arthur’s hair. “Arthur, you fucked me.”

“Yeah.”

“I knew you could do it.”

Arthur kisses him on the neck. “I trust you realize you sound like an idiot.”

“You managed it despite my tattoo. You didn’t even laugh at it.”

“I laughed a little.”

“Wake me up in five minutes,” Eames says and closes his eyes. “Arthur, listen. It’s been a hundred years since I’ve slept with someone I actually like.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, “yeah, I know the feeling.”

  
  


**

  
  


That day, Eames brings him coffee without asking. He says thank you and drinks it. In the evening, he does everything he can think of before he packs his things and takes his coat. He doesn’t have it on yet, when Eames asks him if he’s about to leave.

“Yeah,” he says. His voice sounds odd but there’s only the two of them left, which probably makes it worse. The others left hours ago. He just couldn’t, because he didn’t know if Eames wanted to leave together or not.

“Your place or mine,” Eames says in a perfectly steady voice.

“Mine,” Arthur says. He sounds like a teenager who just heard that his boyfriend is coming over for the first time. “If you don’t mind. We could also –”

“Your place is better than mine, anyway,” Eames says. “I don’t understand how you always know which hotel to book.”

So, they go to Arthur’s hotel again. They eat a little and then kiss a little and Eames wants to watch television, and Arthur pretends to work, but he’s too busy wondering what the hell is going on to get anything done. He suspects Eames might know this, but Eames doesn’t say anything, only laughs at the stupidest jokes on the tv.

At midnight, Eames says he’s tired, so they go to bed and kiss and Eames blows him, which is great but also means that he’s got to return the favor, which isn’t his favorite thing. But Eames strokes his hair and his neck and his chin with his fingertips and keeps making noises that go straight to Arthur’s cock even though he just came, so it’s really alright. And soon after, Eames falls asleep and Arthur can’t, so he stares at Eames’ face and thinks.

He doesn’t have a fucking clue what’s going on.

He really was just looking for someone to have sex with him so that he could stop thinking about the job for a minute.

The last time he was in a relationship, a job went wrong and he got stuck in Dubai for three weeks and afterwards couldn’t explain where he had been, so that was it. It was terrible. He felt relieved that it had ended, because surely it had to have ended eventually, and so it was good that it had happened and he didn’t have to wait for it anymore, wasn’t it? People like him couldn’t have lasting relationships, could they? He shouldn’t have gotten attached in the first place. He shouldn’t have fallen in love. So, he was sensible about it and felt relieved but also lonelier than ever, which was terrible, because he had been unbearably lonely before.

There’s no way he could do it again.

But this is Eames.

And there’s absolutely no way he could do it with  _ Eames,  _ that he could fall in love with Eames and try having a relationship with Eames and then eventually have Eames dumping him and try to be sensible about it. No way.

Probably Eames doesn’t even want a relationship. Certainly not with Arthur. This is probably some kind of a friends-with-benefits-kind of a thing. He always thought they sounded stupid, but then again, he’s never had so many friends he could bear to lose one over sex.

“Hi,” Eames says in a hoarse voice around three, when Arthur has failed to fall asleep. “You aren’t sleeping.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Want to talk?”

“Not really,” Arthur says, but Eames doesn’t stop staring at him, so he clears his throat. “What’re we doing here?”

“Anything you want,” Eames says. “But I’m not going to propose to you when I’m half-asleep. Come here. Worry about it in the morning.”

“I can’t sleep, Eames.”

“I know,” Eames says. “Can I hold you? You smell good.”

Later, after Eames has stopped cuddling him in his sleep, Arthur sleeps for a few hours. In the morning, he has a mild headache and Eames trying to crawl onto him, still asleep.

  
  


**

  
  


The job goes pretty smoothly in the end. Arthur leaves the warehouse alone like he’s supposed to and takes the first flight to New York like he’s supposed to. There he spends the day in a nice café where a man with black glasses and a tattoo of a bird on his arm flirts at him. His head feels like someone drained it and filled it with sand, and he can’t stop thinking about how quiet Eames was this morning.

“I’ll call you,” Eames said, when they kissed before leaving the hotel.

_ I’ll call you. _ Right. Eames will probably call him the next time there’s a job he wants to ask about.

That night, Arthur flies to Chicago. It’s late when he’s finally at his own door. He unpacks everything, then makes food, then eats, then reads a novel for half an hour before finally going to bed. It’s four in the morning. His bedroom feels strange.

He wakes up at seven. At eight, he calls Eames.

“I said I’d call you,” Eames says. His voice sounds distant.

“Sorry,” Arthur says and bites his lip.

“No,” Eames says, “no, I’m glad you called. Did you get the money?”

“Yes. It’s all been taken care of.”

“Great.” There’re sounds of traffic and footsteps. “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing,” Arthur says, although he probably should be doing something. _ Eames  _ is doing something, going somewhere, maybe meeting someone. “I was about to make breakfast.”

“Can you fly to Seattle?”

“What?”

“Seattle,” Eames says, “can you fly there? I booked a cabin for two weeks.”

Arthur sits down in the closest chair. He can’t remember when he bought it. “What?”

“I know you’re supposed to start the next job in three days,” Eames says, “you goddamn idiot, call them and say you can’t come.”

“Why would I do that?” Arthur asks, even though it shouldn’t really matter. “Eames, I can’t do that.”

“You’re the best point man in the business. You’ll get new jobs.” There’s a short pause. “And if you keep going like this, soon you won’t be able to sleep at all. You know that. So, it doesn’t really matter how pissed they get at you.”

“I -,” Arthur begins and then takes a deep breath. He should say that what Eames is saying is absolutely crazy. Arthur can’t cancel the job. Arthur can’t quit. There’s nothing else Arthur knows how to do, there’s no other way of living he can picture. And if he stops sleeping naturally, well, there’re drugs that’ll keep him sane enough for decades. Hopefully. “What’s in Seattle?”

“I already told you,” Eames says. “A cabin.”

“A cabin.”

“Well, it’s not exactly in Seattle,” Eames says, “but we’ll rent a car.”

“We –”

“I’ll come to the airport to pick you up.”

“Really?”

He can hear Eames breathing at the other end of the line. The sounds of traffic have faded. “Arthur,” Eames says, “did you think I was going to break up with you?”

Arthur takes a deep breath. “I didn’t think we were together.”

“I did,” Eames says. He sounds slightly worried. “The cabin seems really nice in the pictures. We can go fishing or hiking or read books all day long or just stay in bed. I want to make you breakfast. Don’t you dare dump me before I’ve made you breakfast. Come to Seattle.”

“Fine,” Arthur says.


End file.
